August 6, 2014 Article

The Old Coot has a one-arm day.

By Merlin Lessler

I’ve thought about doing this for quite some time. To see if I could get through a day with one arm. My left one (I’m a righty). Too much time on my hands? Maybe? But, when you’re an old coot like me, you never know when you will have to adapt to yet another physical limitation. So many things can disable your good arm: a fall, a stroke, arthritis, or just numbing it out for the day by sleeping on it.

Last Tuesday, I decided, “Today is the day!” Getting dressed was a surprise, not as hard as I expected. My shirt was on and buttoned in less than a minute. Pants were another matter. I couldn’t get them on and buttoned until I lay down on the floor. I was off to a good start. Then, I cheated; I slipped into a pair of loafers instead of shoes that needed to be tied. I stuck my right hand in my pocket and set out to face the day with one arm. “Call me Lefty!”

I’ve done a few things left-handed over the years. The Saturday crossword puzzle for example. It takes longer, but I can eventually fill in the letters in readable fashion. Saturday’s puzzle is the hardest of the week so I have a lot fewer spaces to fill in than normal. But still, I do it. I also try to eat European style every once in a while, with a fork in my left hand, the knife in my right, and no switching back and forth. I usually make out all right, except when I stab my lip with the fork. I thought my experiment was going reasonably well until I nearly put my eye out brushing my teeth. I didn’t fare much better splashing water on my face and combing my hair, but that’s not a problem for an old coot. People don’t expect much when it comes to my appearance. Breakfast was a breeze; I didn’t end up with any more milk and cereal clinging to my shirt than normal. I did have a problem buttering a piece of toast; it kept skidding off the plate.

After breakfast, I left the house and headed for my car. I was positive I’d be able to drive with one arm. After all, I set the knee driving record in 1959, steering my father’s Edsel with my knees from Binghamton to Quaker Lake. But, I was wrong. I could barely start the engine. I had to slide over to the passenger seat to insert the key in the slot in the steering wheel. Now I know how lefties feel in a world designed for righties. I mowed the lawn, but it took some acrobatics to hold the “dead man’s” switch in place with my hip so I could get it started. Luckily, the mower had gas in the tank. I don’t believe a one-armed person can put gas in a mower using today’s gas cans with that complicated, spring-loaded doohickey at the end of the filler neck.

Then, I decided to take a bike ride.  I do that one-handed all the time. That’s when my one-armed day came to an end. I squeezed the left brake handle in a panic and nearly flew over the handlebars. The left hand brake lever connects to the front brake. You should never use just the front brake for a sudden stop. My one arm day had some successes, but over all it was a failure. I gained a new appreciation for the four limbs I have, even if they only function at an old coot level. I learned how lucky I am. You might want to try it sometime. (Just make sure your insurance is paid up.)